


Certain Not To Like

by inigosolo



Series: 'Like' [1]
Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: First Time, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 15:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inigosolo/pseuds/inigosolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donny is wrong about Utivich from the start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Certain Not To Like

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing except a beautiful cat named Miguel.
> 
> WARNINGS: Ponderous, choppy fiction ahead. Over use of the F-word. General bad language. Violence. Frottage in the dirt. Oh, and SLASH, in case you didn't gather that already.
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Meandering, progression of relationship fic, UST at first, with mild first time porn towards the end. Reviews lapped up like Landa with his milk. Criticism appreciated.
> 
> First Posted on LJ, 2009.

When he first had to get to know the others, Utivich was the only one who Donny was sure from the start he wouldn't like. The kid had the air of intellectual privilege about him, which was a sure sign that he and Donny would not get along.

Donny met two kindsa guys out here in the army. He met the idiots who just thought they were smarter than him. And then he met the kind of self-assured assholes who were no doubt smarter than him. Utivich belonged firmly in the second group.

Donny had expressed his concerns about every single one of the raw recruits to Aldo at the beginning of the Basterds. Aldo listened to him patiently while sharpening his set of knifes in an Italian farmhouse and then came out with a string of reasoning why he had chosen each and every one of the men, including Smithson Utivich.

"Every squad needs a smart guy, Donny. Some kinda inter-lect-ual summbitch who can see things from a different perspective, and lord knows that ain't gonna be either of us. Now I dunno if you noticed but we ain't exactly trippin' over inter-lectuals out here. Most of 'em got killed in the first five minutes scaling those sand dunes back in Sicily. We may as well take a guy who's got a year or two of college and the nouse to survive that there I-talian bloodbath, and he might as well be a bright little Jew, name of Utivich."

Donny was convinced, from the beginning, that Utivich was just the kind of smart boy pussy who'd puke up at his first sight of blood.

As it turned out, Donny was wrong about that.

The Basterds' first bloodbath took place in the washroom of an abandoned factory where they'd come across a Kraut patrol and the situation had turned into a crazy kind of shoot-out. When he wasn't pumping lead into the nearest Tomas, Dieter or Heinrich, Donny was watching little Utivich to see how the boy'd handle himself.

Yes, he was pale, and no, he didn't look thrilled with the situation as Donny himself no doubt did, but the kid held it together as well as any of the other grunts.

That was the day that Utivich took his first scalp. He stabbed a Nazi corporal six times in the chest (Aldo had already knocked the guy out cold first, but no-one was petty enough to remember a detail like that) and then sliced off the guy's scalp like a fucking surgeon, small neat knife cuts and skin peeled back from the hairline. It was such a perfect example, and so different from the bloody pulps that Aldo was usually presented with, that he ruffled the kid's hair with a filthy hand to show his approval.

So, alright, Utivich wasn't the complete pussy that Donny had taken him for at first sight. But he sure as hell wasn't John Wayne either, and he didn't seem to gel with the other guys, too quiet and thoughtful to join in their camaraderie.

The kid might be smart and clinical, but he definitely didn't have killer instincts, of that Donny was certain. Hirschberg and Kagan, in particular, had already shown a merciless joy in hurting Nazis that Donny and Aldo admired.

* * *

It was a good few weeks, and over a hundred scalps all told, later when they occupied a wooded area south of Versailles. The place was crawling with Nazis; it was the hottest situation they'd been in yet.

In between splitting skulls in two with each gleeful swing of his bat, Donny kept one eye on Utivich. The kid hid behinds trees until a Kraut appeared, then stepped out with a grace that belied his gangly frame. As if following a cue, Utivich would grab the Nazi and slit his throat from behind, with such speed and force that the German would be watching a geyser of his own blood spew across the forest floor before he knew what had happened to him. The man would sink to his knees gasping and spluttering as all the life ran out of him, and Utivich would crouch with him, his hand over the fucker's mouth to stifle the worst of the noise until the man was dead and gone.

That day Donny saw Utivich repeat exactly the same steps until there were 13 fresh, perfectly carved Nazi scalps hanging from his belt, and Donny understood that the little man could be just as stealthy, efficient and even brutal as Kagan or Hirschberg.

Donny guessed that Utivich had been doing some watching of his own, learning from the ways he saw the other guys kill, and like the smart guy he was he'd used what he'd learned to find his own style, which came closest to Wicki, their consummate throat-slitter.

* * *

One day not long after they'd sprung Stiglitz and initiated him as a Basterd, Aldo split them all up into pairs for a clean sweep of a farm near Lyon. Donny was paired up with Utivich, and he no longer found this a cause for concern. In fact most of the guys liked being paired with the little guy, because his survival instincts were remarkably strong, and partnering with him you couldn't help but feel reassured by that.

Silent as two cats they prowled the undergrowth surrounding the farm, intent on their mission until Donny caught an unnatural stiffness in Utivich's movements that he couldn't quite grasp the meaning of. He was about to ask what in the hell was up when he felt a strong hand snake around his ankle and cause him to fall on his face in the dirt, dropping his gun a few feet in front of him, winded and unable to make a sound.

He heard a metallic 'shing' noise, and when he managed to look up he saw Utivich repeatedly stabbing the throat of the Kraut officer who'd tried to sneak up behind him with his scalping knife. Utivich's face was saturated in rich, arterial blood, slicking back his hair and dripping into his huge eyes.

Donny glanced back at the Nazi still holding his ankle and found the source of the metallic shinging sound. The totally deserving bastard had Utivich's throat cutting blade embedded deep in his left eye socket. The man had his mouth open in a soundless cry of pain and terror. Still dazed from the fall, Donny realised that the mortally wounded cyclops was fumbling his Luger in the direction of Donny's face.

Something solid rent the air above Donny's head and a scrawny Jewish boy landed in an ungainly heap on top of the half blind Nazi, got his long fingers around the man's throat and began to squeeze the remaining life out of him.

The fifteen or so seconds that Utivich had to clamp that Kraut's windpipe shut in order to kill him seemed like a half hour even to Donny. Nothing felt quite as intimate as strangling a man to death, Donny knew that from his own experience, and he was pretty sure this was the first time that Utivich had taken life with his bare hands.

In the hollow silence that followed Donny could almost feel Utivich's trembling through the earth. He was about to open his big old Boston mouth and say something to the little guy when he heard the unmistakable sound of a bowie knife being pulled out of a dead Nazi's eye socket, and then the rip of Utivich's first less than perfectly clinical scalp.

The kid moved back to the other corpse with his blade raised in lightly shaking fingertips.

"Lemme do that for you if you want." Donny offered, surprised by how breathless he still sounded, his chest aching from having the wind knocked out of him.

Utivich let out a blunt bark of a laugh.

"No offence, Sergeant, but you can't cut a decent scalp to save your life. The Lieutenant'd think you'd been supplying me."

Donny laughed in gleeful surprise at Utivich's cheek, and sat up to survey the carnage surrounding them. His ankle and his chest still hurt, but not badly. Utivich had sensed the ambush coming, and that was the only reason why Donny was still breathing.

"Pretty quick on the uptake there Ut'ich. Fuck." He grinned in open admiration. He'd saved Utivich's life before, a coupla' times. Being repaid was a new, not exactly unpleasant feeling.

"Good man." He said, quieter, because it was what Aldo would've said.

Utivich, having attached his fresh scalps to his belt, gave him a big genuine grin, creasing the corners of his enormous, still blood-smeared eyes.

He reached down his hand to help Donny out of the dirt.

* * *

As winter hit them in earnest, the Basterds had to take to sleeping in twos or threes, huddled together under scratchy blankets sharing warmth.

When his turn came to share a blanket with Utivich, Donny minded not nearly as much as he'd thought he would. Utivich's ungainly body wasn't as uncomfortable as it looked. Sure the kid was as scrawny as all hell, and what wasn't spiky bone was hard packed stringy muscle, but he was at least skin-toastingly warm, unlike some of the others.

And when Donny couldn't sleep, which was often considering the carpet of stones and twigs they usually bedded down on, he listened to the abnormally loud thudding of Utivich's heart against his prominent ribcage and felt the beating through his own chest.

* * *

There was a kind of exaggerated closeness springing up between them all, which Aldo told Donny was inevitable with this kind of caper. All of them knew the others' habits and eccentricities inside out by now. In his entire life Donny had never been as irritated by anyone as he was by each and every one of the Basterds at this point, including Aldo. Donny was sure the levels of irritation they all put up with every day went beyond the limits of human endurance.

He could've happily killed Wicki for muttering to himself in German, as he did _ALL THE DAMNED TIME._

He'd already held Kagan up against a tree by the throat for humming the same tune forty six times in one hour.

Ulmer's breathing was the loudest, most disgustingly nasal, laboured sound he'd heard in his life and he was amazed it didn't bring Nazis down on them like flies.

As for Stiglitz, that creepy serial killer's dead-eyed stare had set Donny's teeth on edge from the day they'd first bust him out of Nazi prison.

They all reeked of body odour, unwashed clothing, stale blood and sweat and worse. Most of the time Donny was well used to it, but at times the stench still caught him in the back of the throat 'til he could've gagged.

As for his own prowess at annoying the shit outta people, he'd gotten a black eye off of Hirschberg for pissing on him by accident in the dark one night when he was on watch and Hirschberg was sleeping near him. The black eye had been worth it for the amount of time he and the others - including Utivich - had spent laughing themselves silly about it the next day, though Hirschberg never saw the funny side, and occasionally still acted a little off with him about it now.

And seeing as how Donny almost never shut up, running his mouth off 'til even he had no idea what he was talking about, every single one of the others had come up with an elaborate attempt to gag him at some point. Wicki had tried fives times.

Mind you, just about anything could set them off fighting amongst themselves like a pack of wolf cubs. After all, there was nothing else to do when they weren't killing Nazis. The smallest, pettiest things could lead to an exchange of blows; sometimes a good-humoured scuffle, other times a bitter superiority contest.

Even Utivich had fought with Omar once, over some scraps of newspaper for wiping their asses on or something equally mundane. That had been fun, watching the two goofy looking little guys rolling around in piles of dead leaves throwing punches and snarling at one another. Almost immediately after Aldo told them to break it the fuck up, the two of them lay side by side panting and pissing themselves with laughter. They were always friendly with each other after that fight.

In general Utivich was getting on better with all of them as time passed. He would join in with crude conversations now, and occasionally come out with something quick or witty and make them all smile.

Their infighting and their closeness were one and the same thing, Donny guessed. Sometimes it gave him an almost extra-sensory awareness of the others that came in real handy.

* * *

To all of them their run of good luck was beginning to feel too good to be true. At times it was almost like God was on their side and no one could touch them.

Then Kagan got half his head sliced off by a piece of shrapnel blown out by a landmine, and Donny and Wicki watched him die making gut wrenching ape noises in a pool of his own grey matter.

No one got scared, no one cried, no one fell to his knees cursing the war – not even Utivich, although Donny was no longer surprised by that.

They all just became a bit quieter and grimmer, more determined and focused on their job, if anything. And they all missed Kagan's humming more than Donny would have thought possible.

A week and a half later Zimmerman got shot through the heart by a sniper who Stiglitz later found and disembowelled. Their run of luck, such as it was, was definitely over now, and any of them could be next.

Soon after Zimmerman bought it, Utivich got a head wound when a small piece of shrapnel bounced off the ground and parted a furrow in his high forehead. Unlike with Kagan, the cut was shallow and relatively clean, though it bled plenty. As Donny pushed the little guy's dark hair out of the way and rubbed alcohol into the wound, somewhere deep down and in spite of himself he thought _thank god. Thank god._

He cleaned the cut, wishing he didn't have to look so closely at Utivich's wry, youthful face, at how large his eyes were. He wished that there wasn't a stripe of colour illuminating each of Utivich's cheekbones from Donny's scrutiny. He wished he didn't feel a churning in his gut that he knew could only end one way.

* * *

"For the love of God, Ut'ich, go to sleep, will ya?" Donny groaned as he felt the sudden jerk of the other mans legs for what had to be the eightieth time that night.

Utivich grunted out his dislike at Donny's lazy shortening of his name.

The little guy remained still under their shared blanket for long enough that Donny was almost convinced the kid had finally gone to sleep. Then in a moment of pure spite, Utivich thrashed his legs several times, pulling the blanket most of the way off Donny and exposing him to the elements.

Donny growled in a feral way that prompted an outburst of goofy boyish laughter from Utivich, and a string of German threats from a half dozing Wicki, wrapped up with Omar on the other side of the clearing.

"You heard the Kraut, now shut the fuck up." Donny breathed into Utivich's shell-like ear. When Utivich continued to laugh softly, Donny clamped one hand over his mouth, feeling the brush of lips, teeth and warm, moist air against his palm. That warning feeling of being too fond shot through Donny's gut again, so he clamped Utivich's mouth shut harder, painfully hard. Violence of some description was now Donny's solution to every problem. He could no longer remember if he'd been this way before the war.

In any case, Utivich shut the fuck up and breathed through his nose as he waited for Donny's temper to subside.

"Now stay quiet and still like a good little Jewish boy and get some fucking sleep, Ut'ich." He whispered, and it came out less harsh sounding than he'd intended it. His hand loosened it's grip on Utivich's jaw slightly allowing him to partly open his mouth again.

They breathed with each other, settling down for another joint attempt at sleep.

After a long still silence, Donny felt a hot tongue sweep across the palm loosely pressed against Utivich's mouth.

Whether it was a mistake, some sorta stupid joke, or something else entirely hardly mattered. The sensation went straight to Donny's groin. In an instant he turned the smaller man around so they were facing each other under the blanket. He could make out nothing of Utivich's huge, pretty eyes but he couldn't help but picture them, wide, unblinking and staring straight at him. He didn't think about it consciously, but he knew that their joint breathing was coming more heavily.

Donny could have sighed, because really, this was the last thing he wanted to happen. And yet he wanted it so badly that his cock was already hard.

He couldn't see Utivich's wide red mouth in the inky blackness, but he still knew when it began to lunge for him. His own mouth moved forwards to meet it and their teeth clacked with ridiculous loudness in the dark.

Donny's heart leapt traitorously to his throat and his head swam because it had been a long time since that short, busty broad back in Sicily. Beyond strange that a skinny goofball of a man could make him feel the same rush with a clumsy kiss as that cute blonde bombshell had with a tongue-sucking master class.

Utivich, being a lot smarter than himself, would already have realised that there was no stopping this now until they were both satisfied. No sense in it. Might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb, as every Jewish Grandma used to say.

The clever little Jew had the wherewithal to fit their groins together and the meeting of two erections through several rough dirty layers of cloth took things to a new level. Donny gasped very, very quietly, but nevertheless Utivich still brought his palm up to Donny's mouth to copy his earlier muffling motion. Donny tasted heat and salt and bitterness on the boys palm and thought _well, FUCK_.

Soon they were both stifling each others noises with filthy hands as, fully clothed, they rutted against each other like animals in the dirt.

The uncomfortable friction of the garments that separated their throbbing cocks seemed, for Donny at least, only to heighten the moment. Going by the little inward gasping sounds escaping from between Donny's clenched fingers, Utivich didn't seem to mind it either.

They ground together in a graceless adolescent dance, the heat between them increasing despite the lack of finesse. The thought that a single moan from either of them would no doubt rouse notorious light sleeper Wicki and alert him to their activities only served to turn Donny on even more.

He pictured Utivich naked, as he'd seen him plenty of times before in the warmer months when they'd all stripped off to wash in rivers, pictured youthful but broad shoulders, a muscular chest and then a jarringly concave stomach and narrow hips.

Pink, hard nipples, a trail of thick dark hair leading down to a long, conspicuously curved dick hanging between slender legs…

He could only hope that Utivich was picturing his body in such detail...

Donny had a good idea that they were both nearing the edge now, their rutting growing even more strained and frantic. He thought again of big wide eyes in the boyish face of the clever little Jew he was certain not to like, and smiled a little at his own expense.

They were both about to come inside their pants and he liked knowing that afterwards they'd fall asleep with their seed drying on their legs because they'd be too tired, too cold, and Wicki too likely to wake up for them to worry about cleaning up the mess.

Utivich went bowstring rigid and Donny felt him come through layers of cloth, warm wetness and a new smell added to the mix. He sensed that the little man was going to make a noise, so he moved his hand and replaced it with his lips, swallowing any sound. He felt the softness of Utivich's lips and in his mind saw the eyes and the concave stomach, and he came like an eruption inside his underwear, copious and sticky. He bit down hard on Utivich's bottom lip.

They lay trying to snatch breath back into their lungs as quietly as possible. Rolling apart so as not to stick together overnight, they lay close to each other on their backs, Utivich making sure the blanket fully covered them both so they could still share warmth.

They didn't speak as they both knew there was no point. It was done now, that was that. Soon Utivich was snoring lightly, his legs completely still.

Donny lay staring at the cloudy sky for a while, thinking.

Bashing Nazi brains in included, this was the best he'd ever felt.


End file.
